


i can admit, i’m not fireproof

by dreamonhunters



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Character Death, GTA AU, M/M, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24471661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamonhunters/pseuds/dreamonhunters
Summary: Little by little, Race is slipping away from him, and there’snothingJack can do. When those crystal clear eyes reopen, they’re a little glazed from the sheer amount of pain. His breathing seems to become more shallow by the second. Pale skin seems almost paper-thin, drained from the consistent blood loss.“Racer, c’mon,” Jack urges, panic beginning to seep into his voice. His own heartbeat quickens, the first tendrils of anxiety beginning to take root in his mind. This might just be the first time someone doesn’t make it out alive.
Relationships: Racetrack Higgins/Jack Kelly
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	i can admit, i’m not fireproof

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bigsleepsuperhighway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsleepsuperhighway/gifts).



> a cheeky request from my tumblr for some angsty gta jacktrack!! this is a little gift for one of my best friends **dylan** _!_ love you bro ♡

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Racer,” Jack hisses, clammy palms pressing over a deep wound. His fingers shake as he tries to apply pressure, sticky with blood. There’s so much. Too much. 

“‘s not your fault,” Race croaks. His voice is pitiful, broken and filled with the pain he’s trying so desperately not to show on his face. It’s not quite working. “I got in the way.” 

Jack wants to scream. Technically, he isn’t wrong. _Technically_. For such a volatile gang, the deal was going...smoothly. If you try to ignore the guns trained on both boys the entire time. That didn't last. Race opened his big mouth, and then there’s the smell of gunpowder and blood flooding Jack’s senses. He hears Race fall somewhere behind him, but he’s not fast enough to see. Crimson soaks through his shirt. He’s not close enough to locate the source. 

Three gunshots, and Jack is out of there. Whoever was fortunate enough to be left alive didn’t react quick enough. The blond boy is cradled in his arms, bridal-style, but it isn’t easy to retreat like that. He stumbles and trips, with Romeo screaming something into his earpiece the whole time, trying to find _somewhere_ safe to check Race’s injuries. 

In the end, he drops Race a short distance away from the warehouse in what looks to be a car park. The weeds that push through the cracks in concrete are long and overgrown. Clearly nobody has used this place in a while.  
Race’s blood trickles onto the ground, running in rivulets and mixing with the gravelly dirt to make a murky brown colour. The bullet hit his torso, although Jack doesn’t have the ability nor the equipment to check whether or not the bullet is still in there. Probably. No point trying to remove it without proper tools, though. His trembling fingers would be more hindrance than help. 

Instead, he tries to push down a little harder on the wound. Stem the bleeding. Wait for someone — Crutchie, Elmer, it doesn’t matter — to get here and fix him up. _Where are they?_

The earpiece he’s still wearing crackles to life, Davey’s concerned voice filling his ears. “Finch lost visual on you both,” he says, and Jack grits his teeth. “Are you okay? Romeo reported that Race was shot and you ran off with him.”

“We’re fine,” Jack spits, with a little more venom than probably necessary. He’s not thinking rationally right now, in his defence. “I asked for C or Elmer. Where the _fuck_ are they?”

Davey doesn’t answer for a few moments.  
“C is dealing with Romeo. He’s alright, don’t worry. Elmer set off not long since. We were struggling to verify your coordinates.” 

Jack lets out a strangled noise of frustration, and cuts the line. 

How long does he have? Even with the pressure he was _still_ trying to apply, Race’s bleeding was showing no signs of stopping any time soon. He couldn’t just sit here and watch his lover bleed out. 

He pulls his jacket off in one fluid movement, bundling it up to press onto the wound. Already, dark red liquid begins to sleep through the expensive fabric, but it’s better than just Jack’s hands. 

“Jack…” Race groans, snapping him back to reality. His cerulean eyes are clouded with pain, tears threatening to spill over but never quite managing. “‘m sorry.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, trying to ignore the way his heart aches at those words. “Don’t you dare give up on me, Racer, I swear to God. I need ya to keep breathin’ for me.”

“Not givin’ up,” the boy retorts defensively, although his voice is quieter this time. Weaker. Jack chooses to try and gloss over that. At least there’s a little of his trademark stubbornness there.

Instead, he shifts a little to change his angle. He can use more of his bodyweight to press down from here. Race whimpers pathetically at the sudden change in pressure, face screwed up in agony. 

Little by little, Race is slipping away from him, and there’s _nothing_ Jack can do. When those crystal clear eyes reopen, they’re a little glazed from the sheer amount of pain. His breathing seems to become more shallow by the second. Pale skin seems almost paper-thin, drained from the consistent blood loss. 

“Racer, c’mon,” Jack urges, panic beginning to seep into his voice. His own heartbeat quickens, the first tendrils of anxiety beginning to take root in his mind. This might just be the first time someone doesn’t make it out alive. 

Race doesn’t respond verbally. Jack has a sneaking suspicion he can’t. The pain must be unbearable. He’s been shot before, — they all have, it comes with the territory when you’re in a notorious gang — but never to the point where it was potentially fatal. Not when there wasn’t someone on hand to fix him up. 

“Jackie,” Race whimpers, barely managing the whole word. He coughs. “I love you, Jackie.” 

Jack’s heart sinks. What he _wants_ to do is tell Race to shut the fuck up, that he’s gonna die, he needs keep breathing until Elmer arrives. 

But he can’t. 

“I love you too, Racer,” he whispers, lessening the pressure for just a moment to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s shiny forehead. He’s sweating profusely, and Jack can feel the sharp tang of salt on his lips. It’s something of an unexpected reminder of how fragile life is.

Race smiles weakly. It’s all he can manage to do right now. His eyes flutter shut, and it takes everything in Jack not to shake his shoulders viciously and force him to reopen them. 

The life leaves Race’s eyes in that millisecond, and Jack slumps back. He’s too late. In the distance, he hears a car door slam, and the sound of voices. Elmer, most likely, and whoever he’s brought along to help. It’s irrelevant now, isn’t it? 

Hot tears stream down his face, although he can’t pinpoint the moment he started crying. It feels like someone is grasping at this throat, clenching hard, impossible to breathe. He chokes, bloody hands reaching out and squeezing Race’s. Still warm. There’s no pulse, though. He doesn’t feel the need to check for one. 

“Shut the fuck up, Racer. You’re not dyin’ on me,” he whispers, finally releasing his lover’s lifeless hands. His chest is still. But Jack can lie to himself for just a little longer. It dulls the sting, just a little.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @narvaeztrash for more writing _!_


End file.
